


How to Make Tea

by timey_wimey_wayward_lock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Family, Fluff, John and Sherlock are Parents, M/M, Tea, how to make tea, making tea, sherlock and hamish are adorable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1907916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timey_wimey_wayward_lock/pseuds/timey_wimey_wayward_lock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tea. A mixture concocted from ingredients in a teabag, boiled water, milk, and sugar. It couldn't be that difficult to make, could it? Sherlock and Hamish Watson-Holmes decide to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Make Tea

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me, everyone, since I have no idea how to make tea. I have lived a sheltered life, and have absolutely no aptitude for things in the kitchen. So, I got the steps from http://www.wikihow.com/Make-a-Good-Cup-of-Tea, and some online friends. You know who you are, thanks so much.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this, and feel free to check out my other one-shot fics, as well as my series.
> 
> Please ask before you repost this anywhere, or put it on tumblr. Please do not steal my work.
> 
> My tumblr is guitarriffsandamazingships.
> 
> Comments and criticism are welcome. If you see a mistake, tell me so I can fix it.
> 
> -timey_wimey-wayward_lock

Sherlock sat on one chair, his arms crossed and his full lips in a pout. Eight-year old Hamish Watson-Holmes sat on the other dining chair, in quite the same position. Each man stared at the kitchen counter as if it were the most evil and frustrating thing on the planet. On top of the messy counter sat three mugs, a box of tea, a kettle, and the sugar. None of these items were touched, however, and hadn’t been since they were set down. The silence reigned thick in the Watson-Holmes household, and the two men didn’t dare turn away. The pair of verdigris gazes were fixed on that counter, and those extremely frustrating objects.

                “It can’t be that difficult!” Sherlock suddenly burst, with a dramatic lift and fall of his hands. They slapped down on his thighs as he let out a frustrated huff. “It’s tea, for Christ’s sake. Even the daftest of people seem to find the concept easy.”

Hamish shrugged as a reply, tearing his gaze away from the counter to look at his father. “We could ask Mrs. H?” He suggested, giving another light shrug. Despite the suggestion, the child was also feeling a bit of disconcert in his stomach. He’d seen his Dad make tea about a thousand times, though the idea of doing it on his own didn’t settle well.

Sherlock was quick to shake his head. “No, Hamish. I believe we should figure this out on our own. We are both grown men, in a sense. If the regular-day idiot can make a cuppa, then I am sure we can figure it out well enough.” He gave a light pat to the young boy’s head, which was topped with the same dark cacophony of curls. “I have gone through and identified 243 types of tobacco ash. I know where a man has been by the state of his tie and his shoes. And, my son, we have dissected plenty of objects which gives us a variety of knowledge. No assistance will be needed.”

The Father of young Hamish stood with a lithe fashion; lifting the boy into his arms and setting him down on the only free space of counter there was left. The rest was littered with test tubes and remnants of previous experiments Sherlock had yet to clean. Each member of the Watson-Holmes household knew extremely well not to touch anything without a pair of rubber gloves on. It was a wonder they were able to prepare and eat dinner every evening. Then, Sherlock moved to steeple his fingers under his chin, glaring at the objects. It was impossible for them to move and create on their own, but just once Sherlock wished they had just that ability.

                “I think Dad turned on the kettle first, Papa,” Hamish pointed out, his tiny and thin fingers reaching out to indicate the white and silver machine, which could be plugged into the wall.

Sherlock gave a firm nod. “I am quite sure you are right, son. So, our first observation of this experiment is that the kettle must first be plugged in. But, what do we heat up, do you think?” His eyes were quizzical, looking to Hamish for an answer he already knew.

Hamish gave a small smile, and a small giggle. “Water, Papa, of course.” He was quick to turn on the sink for his Father, but as he reached for the kettle, the child realized he was unsure of how to fill it.

Instead, Sherlock scooped up the kettle and took a look for himself. He fiddled with a few buttons and such, until he was able to open the lid. His face erupted with a triumphant grin, and he began to fill the kettle. “How much water do you suppose we need?” he suddenly inquired aloud, though it was more of a question he was asking himself. If they were to make three cups of tea, then they would need a fair share of water. Not too much, or it would be wasted.

                “Papa! It’s spilling over!” A voice suddenly cried, bringing the great detective away from his thoughts. And in fact, the water was spilling out of the kettle like mad, falling into the silver sink and over the dirty dishes. Sherlock scrambled to turn off the tap, but they were still left with an almost over-flowing kettle.

                “Hmm. Well, then. One cup is 250mL. If we are making three cups, then we must multiply this number by three. The answer is 750mL,” Sherlock explained, sure he must be thinking right. He dumped the water from the kettle and instead searched for a measuring cup. It took a lot of searching, but they were successful in the end. A few pots and pans lay strewn about, but they had found a measuring cup. Sherlock helped Hamish place each cup of water into the kettle. When done, they set about plugging it in and waiting for it to boil.

The kettle was silent, and Sherlock stared, impatiently. Hamish was still settled on the counter, and he watched, fascinated, as if the kettle might do something interesting at any moment. Both boys were rewarded with an almost silent steaming from the machine, and finally, Sherlock broke. He let out an aggravated huff and went in search of his laptop, whilst little Hamish continued to watch.

His young, round, and bright blue eyes were excited. He’d never made tea on his own, let alone been allowed to drink his own cuppa. His Dad had only let him drink juice when he was younger, but in the past few weeks he had insisted that he was a big boy and that he could drink tea just like his fathers. After a few days of asking, his Dad had given in. Of course, even if John Watson-Holmes had agreed, he would always fill Hamish’s cuppas with a large amount of sugar, since he knew the young boy would only like it that way. So, Hamish’s exposure to tea was small.

Nonetheless, Hamish did feel at least a little bit older. Smart and sophisticated like his parents, in a sense. He watched happily, until suddenly the kettle began to bubble. The steam rose higher and the child panicked, his head swirling around in search of his Papa. Something must be wrong! Was it supposed to make this noise!? “Papa!?” he asked, his voice strained as he called out. The child had no idea what to do. He didn’t know whether he should unplug the machine, leave it be, or pour the water into the empty mugs.

A tall, thin man came rushing in, tossing his laptop aside to arrive at the counter. Hands flailing slightly, and eyes searching, Sherlock looked for some sort of sign. He hadn’t paid enough attention to the workings of his husband, and when the man made tea, to know what to do. As a child, his house had been littered with staff to do the job for him. But, now, he knew he must overcome the challenge.

Sherlock stuck out a pale, bony hand to unplug the machine, when he heard a subtle click. The light on the kettle flicked off. So, the machine had turned off on its own. This meant it did not need to be unplugged. “It has shut off,” Sherlock said aloud, looking to Hamish with a questioning gaze.

It was the child’s turn to grin at his realization, and he swung his feet back and forth happily. “I think that means it’s done, Papa!” He pointed to the tea box. “How do we make tea from bags full of herbs, though?”

The detective had no answer. He knew the overall mechanics of why they placed the contents in a bag, but he was unsure of what steps they were supposed to follow. Were they supposed to place the tea bag in first, or after? Did they break the tea bag open?

He settled on letting Hamish place the teabags in first. The child was gentle, precise, as he placed each bag in the three mugs. Sherlock followed by unplugging the kettle and pouring in the water. “’Misha, can you grab the biscuits from the cupboard, hmm? I’m sure your Dad might like a few after the long day,” Sherlock inquired, as he set the now empty kettle down. “Hmm. The mixture in the bag seems to be mixing with the water quite fine. I believe your Father added milk and sugar, next,” he breathed aloud, pressing a few fingers to his lips as he went to dig through the fridge.

While the grown man went in search, young Hamish had pulled the cupboard doors ajar, and proceeded to carefully stand on the counter. He plucked the bag of biscuits into his grip and sat back down so he could reach for a plate. Not a small one, of course, because he wanted to put out enough for him and his Papa to have as well. He plucked a big plate from the shelf and then set out a nice, large pile of yummy biscuits. A grin had settled on his round face, highlighting his deep dimples and the soft rose colour that erupted on his nose when his Papa turned around to see.

                “Lovely job, darling,” Sherlock agreed, after ruffling Hamish’s curls. Nimble hands poured cream coloured liquid into each tea mixture. The ingredients were swirled with a spoon, and then sugar was added to only two of the cups. “It seems that we have done it, Hamish. We have proceeded to make tea. Though, I do hope your Dad likes it. We might just have to perfect the tea at some point. I’ll purchase some extra kinds for us to work at. It is a useful experiment.”

Hamish nodded happily, and as Sherlock carried the cuppas, he carried the plate of treats. Each item was set on the coffee table, and the boys plopped down on the worn sofa. John was to arrive home shortly; both Sherlock and Hamish were eager for compliments on their experiment.

Not only moments later, had the sound of a car door come slamming shut. Not nearly an angry close, but one lined with frustration. Sherlock came to the conclusion that John had been granted an extremely stressful day. His steps were slow and languid, heavy and noticeable. John was tired, and it was obvious the minute he stepped in the door. His hands slipped off the mound of jacket on his shoulders, his left hand set down his worn briefcase, and his eyes finally came to rest on the impatient and eager men snuggled on the sofa.

                “Hello, my boys,” John greeted, his frustration and anger suddenly gone. He was exhausted, just as Sherlock had deduced, but he continued. “What’s this, then?”

                “Tea, Dad! Papa and I made it just for you!” Hamish answered, jumping off the couch to run into his Dad’s legs. He was scooped up and hitched on a familiar hip, which only had him giggling and wiggling eagerly. “We figured it all out with no help, because Papa told me that almost everyone in the world knows how to make tea. So, I knew that we needed to know too. And he said that you would be tired when you came home so I said that you would like tea very much. That it would make you feel better.”

John gave a nod and kissed his son’s forehead. “I see. Well, your Papa was just right. How about we try it, then, yeah?”

Hamish nodded eagerly as John set him down. Before they could reach for the cups, Sherlock had a sudden realization. They had yet to take the teabags from the cups. “Ah, one last thing,” he added, reaching to pluck each bag from the steaming mugs. He set the warm bags aside and then motioned the two boys on. His own cheeks were a slight red colour; he sought approval from John, even if he wouldn’t admit it aloud.

Each picked up a steaming mug and took a sip. Hamish was the first to pull away and slightly grimace, finding it slightly bitter, but not horrible. He felt really happy, despite the rather bland taste of the tea, though he hoped his Dad liked it better. Sherlock was the second to taste the brew, and also found it rather bland. Hmm. More sugar, he concluded.

John took his first sip of the tea, and found it to be rather horrible. But, he said not a word of the fact. Instead, he pulled the cup away from his lips to grin at his two boys. “It’s wonderful for your first try!” His compliment earned larger smiles, and he continued, “If you keep working at it, you’ll make extremely lovely tea. I’ll show you some tricks next time, hmm? Thank you very much. It’s just what I wanted to come home to.” He was only able to scarf down a few more gulps, before mixing tea with the biscuits was crucial.

Hamish drank all of his tea, while he snuggled in the middle of his parents. The three men had settled down on the sofa, mugs and biscuits in hand. His Dad was extremely warm and comfortable in his cream jumper, and his Papa was mildly warm, but extremely lovely to be close to. He wasn’t cushioned with the weight or mass that John had, but there was something so lovely and lulling about sliding close to a normally cold-hearted man.

When the tea was finished, and the only remaining pieces of biscuit left were crumbs, each man collapsed in an exhausted manor. John’s arm encircled both Hamish’s shoulders and half of Sherlock’s. Sherlock’s arm ducked under their waists. Each side of Hamish burrowed into family comfort, and he closed his eyes.

                “ _How to Make Tea_ , by Sherlock and Hamish Watson-Holmes,” John muttered, with a tiny chuckle. “New blog entry? I think so.”


End file.
